


spark

by teandfailure



Series: sugar daddy au [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Grad student Edward Elric, M/M, Meet-Cute, Professor Roy Mustang, ed is not one of roy's students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teandfailure/pseuds/teandfailure
Summary: "i'm here under duress," ed offers, still holding the guy's flask. "in case that wasn't clear.""if you're in need of rescue, i'd be happy to assist," he all but purrs. "perhaps i can call in a favor."
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: sugar daddy au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1465006
Comments: 8
Kudos: 125





	spark

**Author's Note:**

> i've been trying to write this scene for ages and here she is 🎉🎉 i wanted to give a bit more context to roy and ed's relationship in the AU, and i've had this headcanon since i started writing this verse.

ed is about ten minutes away from strangling himself with his way-too-expensive tie, so he makes a polite excuse to professor curtis and whatever old guy university bigwig they’re supposed to be schmoozing and quietly slips off into the crowd before izumi can try to follow him. he’s never had the taste for cigarettes, but times like these he wishes he did, just to have the excuse to escape the crowd for a moment.

they’re in one of the university’s event spaces, one with gloriously high ceilings and gilded molding and pairs of antique clawfoot chairs banking each window. ed’s not surprised they don’t let students host benefits here; a fraternity could _destroy_ this place in a single night given the appropriate amount of alcohol, and that would really be a travesty, for someone’s checkbook if nothing else. it’s huge, full of hallways and an improbable number of doors, and tonight’s event is crowded, but ed doesn’t exactly have a destination in mind, so he just follows the flow of traffic: into some kind of back atrium, through a long hall, up a rather ornate set of stairs.

the room he lands in looks alarmingly similar to the one he just left, a fancy but unoriginal ballroom with scattered pieces of dark wood victorian furniture. on the upshot, this one is flanked on either side by the bar and the kitchen, respectively, complete with overdressed waiters darting out into the crowd with tiny trays of drink and ours d'oeuvres. score. 

he lingers between a few clusters of people, tries to eavesdrop enough to ascertain what department they’re from, but mostly it’s name dropping and polite chuckles and coy comments he lacks the context to interpret fully. he doesn’t see anyone he recognizes from around the chemistry department, so he weaves his way toward one of the corners, removed from the hubbub enough that he can sneak a moment with his phone. 

he checks the time in guangzhou — time zone math is oddly soothing, when you do the same calculations enough times — then texts al to whine about how he will inevitably die before the clock strikes midnight, when izumi has granted him permission to get the hell out of here, since he has to be at the lab at an unholy hour the next morning. al just responds with a picture of he and mei’s cat, waffle cone, playing with a stuffed toy that looks like a water molecule, which doesn’t exactly make the situation better, but it definitely doesn’t make it worse, either. 

he texts al, ‘gotta run, more asses to kiss before i turn into a pumpkin or whatever. have a good day with the children!’

‘it’s SO CREEPY when you say it like that, i am an ENGLISH TEACHER,’ al fires back, but ed just laughs and forces himself to put his phone back in his pocket. in the opposite corner of the room, he sees a waiter step out from behind the bar with a tray of champagne flutes, and his first choice would’ve been something stronger, but beggars can’t be choosers, so he ducks and follows the coattails into the crowd. 

the waiter leads him down a hallway and into a different room, smaller and darker, a slightly more modern type of decor. by the time ed catches up — and catches his breath enough to be in polite company — most of the glasses on the tray are already accounted for, and as he faux-casually strolls by the waiter, trying to make it look nonchalant like all the rich people do, there’s only one glass left. 

he debates it internally for a moment, but he always comes down on the side of spontaneity. he’d never been the kind of person who chose to wait, never really understood the concept of biding one’s time. 

ed goes for it, then promptly startles when his hand touches flesh when he was expecting it to touch glass. he pulls his hand away, quickly, reflexively, just in time to look up and find himself face to face with the other guy, pulling his hand away like a reflection. dark hair, dark eyes, expensive suit that somehow made him look approachable in spite of what ed was sure was an obscene cost. and- smiling at him. 

“shit, sorry,” ed says, earning a dirty look from the waiter. “i should’ve been paying more attention- it’s all yours, of course-”

“oh, no, by all means.” the guy gestures to the remaining glass with a well-manicured hand. “please, i insist.” there’s the smile again, only this time it’s a little bit- sharper. almost hungry. 

the guy’s eyes follow ed’s hand to the tray and back again, and they make firecracker eye contact again as ed takes the first sip. ed shivers a little bit under the weight of his gaze.

“have a good evening,” the guy says, buttery smooth, giving him another shit-eating grin before he turns on his heel and vanishes back into the crowd, not having got what he wanted but seeming not at all bothered about it. 

ed sighs, downs the champagne all in one go, and sets out to find izumi before she decides to murder him and take his research for herself. 

: :

izumi isn’t mad at him, per se, but she doesn’t seem all that happy with him either, and she doesn’t let him out of her sight again once ed finds her. she’s ankle-deep in explaining their research to some industry bigwigs who definitely wouldn’t know a bunsen burner from a bayonet but whose sweet, sweet funding has sustained ed through a valiant sojourn in post-graduate education without a clearly defined end-point, and ed flashes his show pony smile and doesn’t talk much, shakes hands and nods along and collects business cards in his jacket pocket. he pipes in when izumi cues him with an enthusiastic elbow-to-the-ribs and explains what he does in the lab with as much gusto and charm as five hours of sleep and one glass of champagne can muster, and answering their questions kills a surprising amount of time with relatively little pain. 

it’s after eleven by the time he checks his watch again — the one al had given him at his undergrad commencement, in one of those moments where his shithead dad’s absence had felt particularly prominent and al, still a teenager, had loudly and proudly taken up the mantle of taking approximately a thousand photos and grandly telling embarrassing stories from when ed was a kid — and then blessedly, finally, he can hear izumi excusing herself, saying polite good nights through gritted teeth. 

she leads him down a side hallway then stops on a dime, and ed braces for some kind of lecture, reprimand for one of the many transgressions he’s committed and already forgotten about, but she just says, “you did good, kid,” and pats him on the arm.

ed tries not to stare. “...thank you?”

izumi rolls her eyes. “you’re smart, so i don’t have to tell you how important it is that you’re able to” — she gives a vague hand wave in his general direction — “play the game, so to speak.”

“right,” ed says tightly, feeling more drunk than a single glass of champagne should allow. 

“i should see you tomorrow afternoon for a few hours when i get into the lab — i’ll be in meetings all morning, but i should be able to catch up with you and give you some of my notes around, say, two? that sound good?”

“sounds grand,” ed says, wincing at his tipsy, tongue-tied self, then continues before he has time to have doubts. “i’m free to go, then? court is dismissed?”

“you’d best leave before anyone else finds you,” izumi says. “they’re like vultures, i swear.”

ed nods once, curt, gives her a final “see you tomorrow,” as he starts walking; she doesn’t have to tell him twice, not after the day he’s had. he’s still got a troubling amount of work to do tonight, not to mention that champagne and finger foods do not constitute dinner. 

izumi ducks back out into the crowd, and ed prepares to do the same, scans the room for entrances and exits and finds himself instead making his way across the crowd toward the men’s room. he hadn’t realized how much he needed to pee until now, but his bladder is somewhere between yelling and screaming for his attention, so it was probably a blessing in disguise that he hadn’t simply headed for the exit.

when he steps into the bathroom, though, ed immediately locks eyes with the guy from earlier, the guy who had given him the last glass of champagne. it’s like a jolt of electricity, so sudden it takes ed far too long to process what his eyes are actually seeing: the guy with a flask in one of his gorgeous hands, glinting light reflecting off of the metal, poised to take a big swallow of what ed doubts is champagne. 

it catches him so off guard that ed just… stares, for a second. this close, ed is sure that suit costs more than his monthly rent, but it looks good on him, well-tailored and framing his shoulders just right. the bathroom lighting is much better than it had been when they met the first time, and ed can see the guy’s face clearly now, glorious high cheekbones and a mouth made for sinning and these deep, complicated black-blue eyes ed could get lost in. 

_does_ get lost in, because the guy stares back. 

it can’t be more than a few seconds, but it passes achingly slow, dribbling thick like honey. the eye contact feels far too intimate, heat building and simmering, and for a moment ed has the instinct to flinch away from it, to look away because god knows _what_ this guy might see in him. 

fortunately, ed is pretty well-versed in ignoring his instincts these days. he’s just about to say something to that effect when the guy cracks a grin at him and extends the flask in ed’s direction. 

ed takes it before he can convince himself not to. “thanks,” he offers, because he has manners, and raises the flask in some kind of mock toast. he takes a healthy swig and carefully does not make a face, even if this shit smells more like lighter fluid than something he should be ingesting; at least he can get through the remainder of tonight at least a few layers removed from sobriety. 

“the pleasure is all mine,” the guy says easily. 

"i'm here under duress," ed offers, still holding the flask. "in case that wasn't clear." 

"if you're in need of rescue, i'd be happy to assist," he all but purrs. "perhaps i can call in a favor." 

he snorts. "appreciate the offer, but i’m more of a rescue-myself type." he takes another drink, because why the fuck not, this shit’s probably expensive. "besides," he continues, softer, "i'm not supposed to take candy from strangers." 

"roy mustang," the guy offers, and extends his hand to shake. 

ed gives him a raised eyebrow. what’s next, they’re gonna swap business cards over this roy guy’s flask of probably-whiskey? "edward elric,” he offers instead. 

roy grins again, almost like he’s proud he’s made it this far. "see? just like that and we're no longer strangers."  


ed nearly rolls his eyes at that. “you come here often?” he asks instead, extends his hand to pass the flask back. 

“more often than i care to, if i’m being honest,” mustang says, and he doesn’t even flinch about drinking after ed, just downs a healthy gulp before screwing the cap back on. “this is not my first university-mandated function, and i highly doubt it will be the last.” 

“it’s my first time,” ed admits. “think i’ve done pretty well for myself; my grad advisor called me ‘kid’ and told me i ‘played the game,’ whatever the fuck that means.” 

“surely we should drink to your survival,” mustang says seriously. “i don’t know what you’re studying, but these benefits have killed many a lesser man where i come from.”

ed takes the bait. “and where might that be?” 

“i’m a law professor,” roy offers. “which is to say i’ve seen many floundering students take on an event like this, several of whom have left the venue in tears, and you look-” he gives ed an exaggerated once over, “quite composed. there’s not even blood on your jacket.” 

“of course you’re a kinky fucker, you’re a lawyer,” ed says. “it’s all coming together.” 

“that’s a baseless accusation,” mustang replies, but he’s grinning so wide ed knows he’s right, and fuck, he _loves_ this game. dimly, he’s aware that this is a bad idea — it does not pass the al test, or the winry test, or the izumi-wouldn’t-kill-me-if-she-knew test — but nothing in his life has sparked like this in fuck knows how long, and it’s testing the fragile remnants of ed’s self control. 

“you’re giving me all the evidence i need,” ed counters. “hey, don’t take it too hard though; ‘kinky fucker’ is about as close as i get to a term of endearment these days.”

“are you saying you like me?” he asks, and his voice is a practiced neutral even if his eyes light up. 

“don’t get ahead of yourself, now,” ed warns. “i said what i said, and i didn’t say anything else for a good damn reason.” 

for some reason, that makes roy laugh, a big bubbly laugh that changes his whole face. “of course,” he murmurs. “my mistake.” he fidgets with the flask for a minute, double checking that the cap is screwed on tightly, and when he looks back up at ed, he’s got the mask back on. “and if i said that i liked you?” 

that is… not what ed was expecting him to say. he blinks a few times to try to clear his head and utterly, spectacularly fails. “free country, i guess,” he offers finally. “can’t stop you falling in love with every half-wit grad student you meet in a public bathroom.” 

“now who’s getting ahead of himself?” mustang says, teasing. “i was merely thinking of dinner sometime with the stunning grad student i happened to meet in a public restroom.” 

“if you call me ‘stunning’ again i might actually gag,” ed says, defensive, before he can really process what mustang is trying to say. when he does, his head swims with possibilities, with spun-up scenarios of what he could say and how roy might react; he only has one chance to get this right, but fuck, what does he have to lose? 

“hey,” he says, and he makes his voice soft, scratchy and deep in his chest. “i really appreciate the offer, but my lab schedule keeps me pretty busy these days.” 

“of course,” roy says. “if you don’t have the time to slot me in-”

“what i’m trying to say,” ed says, before he can think better of it, “is that my time is valuable. if you know what i mean.” 

roy looks at him for so long ed thinks he doesn’t get it, and he’s preparing for this to go in a decidedly awkward direction — will he try to spell it out? will be make an excuse and get the hell out of this bathroom before things can get worse? — when he finally hears roy take a breath in. 

“a young man who knows his worth,” roy says at last, and he’s smiling. _fuck_ yeah. “i appreciate that.” 

“yeah?” 

mustang’s rustling around inside his jacket, tucking the flask away and coming back with something new in his hand. it takes ed a moment to realize it’s his wallet. “i really should be getting back to my colleagues,” he says, wallet open and hands working, “but i’d love to get you a cab home, if i may. and give you my information, of course.”

he’s holding out what looks like his business card, with a couple of carefully-folded bills tucked on top of it. 

ed takes it, blinks to try to clear his head and finds himself still in the bathroom, still in the company of a strangely hot stranger who’s handing money to get a taxi home. “thanks,” he says, “that’s really nice of you.” 

“is it too much if i ask you to text me when you get home?” 

ed considers it for half a second, but he already knows what he’s going to say. he wants roy to have his phone number, too. “nah,” he says, “i’m used to it with my brother, so. one check-in text coming your way.” 

“lovely,” roy purrs, and ed watches his hands as he fastens the middle button on his suit jacket. “it was a pleasure to meet you, edward; do get home safe.” 

ed watches him walk away, watches the way his pants cling to his ass as he moves. he really does look damn good in that suit, and ed’s almost self-conscious about his own attire, alone in the bathroom as the door falls shut. he’s still holding roy’s business card, still holding roy’s cash, still dizzy from roy’s whiskey and roy’s words. 

it feels like lifetimes since he’d wandered into the bathroom on his way out, and he’s dimly, distantly aware that he still has to pee. he pockets roy’s business card and crosses toward the facilities with a dazed grin still on his face. 

: : 

when ed gets home, he nods his hello to ling, sprawled out on their couch watching some reality show that seems to involve throwing alcoholic drinks at each other, and ducks into his bedroom to dig into a night of grading papers. he can’t even fathom what izumi will have to say about his thesis when they meet tomorrow. 

he’s on his third essay when he remembers that he’d promised roy that text message. 

‘sorry i’m late,’ he writes, ‘but i did make it home in one piece. grading until my eyeballs fall out. lmk how i can make it up to you ;)’ 

his phone buzzes back almost immediately. ‘you had me worried there,’ roy’s written, and then, ‘your penalty is that you’ll be stuck with me texting you for the foreseeable future. can’t have anything happening to you before i can see you naked.’ 

ed can’t resist. he nudges his dress pants down his hips and adjusts himself, spreads his thighs wider in his desk chair so he’ll get a better angle, then takes a couple photos in his shitty bedroom light so he can choose the best one.

in the end, the picture he chooses is simple: it shows off ed’s abs, sure, but it also shows off his bulge, straining against the front of his pants, and the ribbon of lace from his thong peeking out along the ridge of his hip. 

‘just a little something to tide you over,’ he writes. ‘have a good night, roy.’

**Author's Note:**

> if you like my fics, you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/teandfailure) also 😚


End file.
